


Pretty Blue Eyes

by adrikyn



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Alcohol, Blood and Gore, M/M, Skull Fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-26
Updated: 2011-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 06:50:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3437594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrikyn/pseuds/adrikyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Volgin convinces a drunk Ivan to try something a little more risque. They both enjoy it, but the act itself is a bit of a one-time deal. Please take note of the tags and be warned!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Blue Eyes

After hours in Groznyj Grad, Ivan sat naked on his knees in front of Volgin's hardened member. A typical evening.

"Did you drink all the vodka I gave you, Vanya?" Volgin whispered hoarsely, some vain attempt at a coo as he let his large fingers run through Ivan's hair. The blond was unsteady, even on his knees, eyelids drooped and a drunken smile on his lips.

"Yes'ir, the whole bottle~ 'M ready," he let out a heavy sigh, nuzzling his face against Volgin's length, his lips puckered out to kiss it but too drunk to aim.

"Good boy," Volgin patted Ivan on the head in unison with his words, wearing his trademark sadistic sneer. "It'll numb the pain."

Ivan's head lolled in what might have been a nod, followed by a line of drool dripping down his chin. There was more than just alcohol in that vodka, and Volgin knew that. Ivan didn’t, of course.

"Alright, Vanya," he spoke firmly, the hand that had treated Ivan like a good mutt now gripping the fine blond hairs, pulling him forward towards his erect cock. Ivan's mouth hung open in waiting, but found that bitter member filling half his field of vision instead--to which he jerked back, stopped by the steely grip on his hair. "Oww! ...What are you doin'? My mouth's down...," he pointed at it with little grace, "here."

"I wanted to try something new today," he kept that grin, but his teeth were clenched. Not in anger so much as anticipation; his cock was hard and painfully throbbing, it took all the self control he had to not just impale Ivan on him and be done with it. "Now open that pretty blue eye of yours, Vanya, I want to see it coat my cock."

There were just enough drugs in Ivan to make him not reel away in abject horror. Instead, he asked in his current messy slur, "Won't that, uh...hurt?"

Volgin shook his head, tension rising. The muscles in the side of his face could be seen clenched tight and pulled; the man might break his molars at this point. "No, no, Vanya. That's what the _vodka_ was for. Now, let's not delay this any longer, I'm _hard._ "

"Fiiine," the younger man groaned, forced to tilt his head a bit by Volgin's adrenaline rushed hand. Volgin, who eased himself close until the slit of his dick was cradled against Ivan's watering iris, eyelid twitching and begging to shut. Despite his autonomic responses, Ivan was relatively calm and only grimaced, gripping Volgin's thigh in one hand.

Volgin pressed, and he pressed, and he was defeated by the realization that one couldn't just shove their dick into an occupied eye socket. "Vanya," he muttered, letting go of that soft hair in order to meet his companion on near, ironic eye level.

"I need to take this out first," and without warning, Ivan's head was seized again, as a thumb dug its way into the space between the tear duct and eyeball, popping it out like some kind of Halloween painted cherry. And naturally, vodka, drugs, or no, Ivan screamed.

It actually frightened Volgin, a sharp pang in his chest--maybe he'd compare it to lightning if he weren't so numbed to that electrical charge--he was down on his knees, trying to calm the panicky mess that was Ivan back down into whimpers and gasps. His large, muscular arms held him in embrace, Ivan's hands only concentrated on attempting to hold his eye in his palm, but it hurt too much to touch and they only hovered around it, like an invisible barrier keeping it out of his grasp.

Once Ivan had calmed a bit, Volgin pulled away, erection dampened maybe, but still ready to go on. "Vanya," another hoarse attempt at a coo, "let's go on."

Ivan didn't answer, only sniffled. Volgin pulled out a knife and cut the stalk of muscle keeping his eye in place, and while Ivan whimpering again threatened to set him off, that inner sadist couldn't help but enjoy the feel of holding such a beautiful piece of work between his thumb and forefinger. Round, tiny red veins spider webbing out from the back. He squished it beneath his fingers a moment later and went on, grabbing Ivan by the hair once more and pulling his tense body forward.

Volgin was finding that, perhaps, blood was not a good lubricant. The way in was dry, like trying to masturbate with water as lube. Not to mention it was tight; he barely able to squeeze his cock into the opening. As a sadist as he was, he couldn't live with the idea of breaking Ivan's cheek bone to accommodate him. The idea of ruining such a perfect face and of destroying Ivan's vanity any further--that was not an option.

Maybe he’d get him a nice eye patch after this--the muscles inside Raikov’s socket throbbed and twitched, like trying to move a phantom limb--whatever color he wanted, stitched personally by the best seamstress in Russia. He only had the head in, maybe half an inch of his actual dick.

He hit a wall of muscle, tight and pulsating. Bleeding now, definitely, from the severed muscle. It bubbled out from between the space where Ivan's brow met his shaft; whenever he moved, pushed in or out, blood would follow.

Ivan was gasping as if in ecstasy, sudden, sharp moans. Probably of pain right now, but the first time always hurt. He'll like it soon enough.

"Vanya," Volgin grunted, pressing hard against that barrier inside his skull. He needed that hot, throbbing--somewhat dry warmth to cover him completely. With enough short thrusts, something tore, lead way to deeper heat, Ivan's skull taking in the entirety of Volgin's dick, his balls were pressed against his cheek; he was that close.

And what Volgin saw was that pretty blond head, hair tussled from his grip, impaled through the eye on his erection. Blood still liked to squirt out from that space in between them. They were so close right now, and in Ivan's skull he could feel something soft in comparison, yet still firm. It had eased its way around his cock and split to its whim like the parting sea.

He thrust into that new heat, finding it to be excellent lubricant, whatever it was. Ivan was still making sounds, whimpers and grunts, his pale hand reaching for his own half-hard dick to stroke it feverishly like he always did. See, Volgin _knew_ he'd warm up to it eventually.

"Vanya, I think I've found a new hole to loosen up," he chuckled, voice dripping with sadistic lust and passion. He grabbed Ivan's head with both hands and started to furiously pound into his skull.

It was only when Ivan gasped, shuddering out garbled bits of Russian, that he realized what that intoxicating heat he was fucking was. _It was his brain._

He felt his balls tighten, his dick struck with a sudden surge of heat-- _he was fucking Ivan's brain._ It made him harder than he even realized he could be right now, each thrust into that soft, squishy little skull of Ivan's making his fingers tighten into his knots of hair and press against his scalp.

Imagine it, all those neurons firing off around his cock, like the electricity beating around his hands in rage. All those mangled, confused thoughts that must be traveling through Ivan's circuits, and the fact the boy was still _pumping his cock_ made it that much more beautiful.

What a primal urge sex was, to still be stroking oneself to orgasm in inevitable death.

It only took Volgin a few more hard thrusts to set himself off, a slight spark of electricity-- _but imagine the ones in Ivan's brain!_ , he thought to himself, oblivious to the fact Ivan had already passed shortly after reaching orgasm--and he was off, pulling out, watching cum, blood, and brain matter leak out of Ivan's stretched socket as he slumped forward before collapsing on the floor. An exhale from the larger Soviet, and silence.

It wasn’t quite like the ecstatic realization he’d had when realizing his dick was in Ivan’s _brain_ , but it was on par. It was a sudden overwhelming regret he didn’t want to admit to. Ivan Raidenovitch Raikov was dead. His Vanya, soft and sweet, well--he was a good boy. He gave himself up completely in the end, to Volgin.

So of course Volgin would be coming back for seconds, after all, it was the least he could do for poor Vanya. Don’t let the man die in vain.


End file.
